


He Likes Shirts, Buttons, Clothes

by gemnosha



Category: Supergay - Fandom, Supergirl
Genre: Fluff, Gay, Insecurities, M/M, crackish, nothing happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 07:49:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9712076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemnosha/pseuds/gemnosha
Summary: Winn doesn't like being shirtless.





	

Winn Schott kept his shirt on. He never let people peek through the seamed buttons to find the small hairs that drip down his chest, or observe the flow of colors that made his skin. He had his insecurities, and he had no way to silence them.

Working at the DEO meant locker rooms. It was almost like walking through the doors of high school and finding himself trapped in the boys' changing room. Again. He was, once again, the shy brunette boy with the twitchy smile. The boy who coiled his body into tight shoulder rolls, and protectively crossed arms. He was the kid that wore a shiny, obsidian glass armor. It was as tough as paper, but it did the job — no one bothered him.

Working at the DEO meant habits, schedules, strategies. He would've changed into his work uniform at the fresh hour of six o'clock, he would've buttoned his armor into to tight knots under fifteen minutes. When the sun peaked over the translucent window, it would be halftime. He would have time to tuck in everything that needed tucking in, to fix the details, to sew the picture perfect canvas. But, Winn was late. It was 6:23 by the time he entered the locker room, his breath was still something between a box of oranges and a mint ice tea, untouched by caffeine.

He threw his loose shirt from his body in three strides, and swung his locker open. The button shirt hung perfectly on the hanger, his boots stood neatly to the side. He threw his pants down to his knees and struggled out of them. The locker room, for a moment, was just Winn in his superman boxers, rushing to change in seven minutes. He was lucky enough to be alone — so he thought.

"Oh, hey," Mon-El. **Mon-El. _MON-EL_**.

Winn's mind shut closed like a clam. Whatever ounce of relief that sparkled in his head rolled away from him loudly across a hard, marble floor. His arms crossed over his bare chest, curdling his nakedness together. "Mon-El!"

"Winn!" Mon mimicked him, his eyebrows rising and falling with a falsity of emotions. He was elated by Winn's mannerisms. Regardless, Mon-El's eyes flickered and fanned over Winn's body. His sight severed from his control and took advantage of the moment. If anyone had told him that staring was rude — Kara Danvers to Mon-El, "Staring is rude." — he didn't care. He couldn't care. Winn looked like a moment he could never unsee, unfeel, undo. It was like watching a deer blinded by severe headlights, ready to fall apart. A purr tickled in Mon-El's throat. Was this arousal?

"Oh. Sorry. I gotta go."

"Hmm-hmm," Winn's lips pierced shut, his chest bubbling.


End file.
